O Creativity, Where Art Thou?

It's 20.29 in my Mac's clock, I've just come home from a movie and dinner with my loved ones. The house is really quiet. Most of my family have gone to the mosque, I guess. Hm. I think I've never been this alone in my house. It's nice, sometimes. I don't hear noises from my brother's computer, or the sound of tv blaring from the living room below. It's like I'm in a quiet corner of my mind, absorbing the solitude.
Hmmm. I miss writing. It's been a while since I wrote anything but complaints. I want to write something decent, something joyous--if not rich, something.. alive. Maybe I should start a journal. Yes, a diary, a new one. And maybe vow to myself that I won't turn it into another garbage disposal. Like this blog, for instance. It started as a media for me to write anything I wanted. Now all you can find here is just complaints. Endless rant of how miserable my life is, while it actually isn't.
I want to be.. creative, again. I want to open my mind to the sound of the wind; the gentle night breeze and not complain about the heat. Like a scene in The Matrix where Neo learned to jump over buildings. I want to jump over rivers, oceans. I want to do the impossible.
I want my mind to be free.

Fact.

Have you ever noticed that when you're crying alone, your body feels colder and after you're finished, you have this big urge to pee? Everytime. I don't know why.

Wishful Thinking

sometimes I wish I had a big brother so I can lean on him whenever I'm sad.
sometimes I wish I had a little sister with whom I can make dolls with.
sometimes I wish I had better skill as an artist.
sometimes I wish I could sing.

other times I wish I was taller.
other times I wish I had tidier bedroom.
other times I wish I wasn't me.
other times.. I wish I wasn't as lonely as I feel.

but sometimes, I just wish to be myself, free of expectations, living life the way I wanted.
sometimes I wish, I could be ugly and people still love me.




hhhhh...
sometimes I wish I wasn't this selfish--or whiny.

Pandora's Box

Oh, heck. I've been holding in the urge to complain for quite some time and face it, I'm not perfect. My life isn't.
You know, I do really feel like I'm Alice. Lost in a world she doesn't understand, bitching and complaining, and sounding like a snob, bossing around every weird creature she comes across. Like Crazy Mad-Hatter who thinks everyday's worth celebrating for the vague reason that it's NOT his birthday. Maybe I should do that. Celebrate the days I feel unloved.
Oh, how I reach this crazy state of discomfort--yet again? I just wanna eat my body alive, you know. Yeah, and watching "His Just NOT That Into You" is clearly not helping at all. Now I just wish I have an Alex around so I can ask him things I should know about a man. So unrealistic, for I know every man is as good as jerks like he said, and he's just gonna be one of them anyway.
I've never been this harsh in my posts before,... or have I? Ah, what do you care? You're just a server, you can't talk back. Anybody who reads this probably just has nothing better to do and they're not gonna talk back either.
Well, what do you know? I guess this is my way of celebrating my crappy day. Which is pretty much 364 days in a year. Not to exaggerate. This is just how low I feel.